


The Best Laid Plans

by KDblack



Series: Don't Go Chasing Rabbits [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Gen, M/M, This is mine, Unhealthy Relationships, alternate universe - humanoid androids, based on tina-sapphire's AU, every fandom needs at least one serious attempt at writing a ridiculous AU premise, phone guy has a name, planning murder with your friends, so does management, the games happen concurrently, this guy's cute I wanna hear him scream, yeah i went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDblack/pseuds/KDblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Freddy's, Mike. Meet cute. </p>
<p>Sort of. </p>
<p>(The one where the animatronics are humanoid androids, there are no less than four night guards, and management isn't out to get anyone. Funny how that doesn't make things any better.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Based (loosely) off of Tina-Sapphire's AU, which you can find on DeviantArt. In short: the animatronics are humanoid androids, the timeline has been thoroughly rewritten, Bonnie can't decide if he wants to dismember Mike or kiss him, and the cupcake is gay for the desk fan. There are a bunch of headcanons that go into justifying this, which I will do my best to share.
> 
> Welcome to Freddy's. It's going to be a glorious trainwreck.

Fifty-eight minutes and nineteen seconds to closing time, the door swings open. It's a quiet sound, easy to miss, especially during a show as lively as this. It's one of Freddy's good days, and his enthusiasm's rubbing off on the rest of them. Case in point, the song they're doing now isn't actually on the program. The kids seem to like it, though, and that's what matters. They're cheering so loudly that even Bonnie takes a moment to register the sound of the door opening.

He keeps his eyes on the crowd, a warm smile on his face, but his ears swivel toward the entrance. Two humans trot inside – one familiar set of steps and one unfamiliar. Neither light enough to be a child.

Bonnie turns his head slightly, glancing toward the door as casually as he can. Pamela Sanchez, manager, catches his gaze and flinches. She does that every time he looks at her. He'd ask why, but she avoids him like the plague when he's on-duty and he doesn't care enough to hunt her down before or after work. She does her job and keeps a respectful distance from the children. That's enough. He gives her a faint nod and moves on, zeroing in on the stranger.

'Tiny' is the first word that springs to mind. 'Fragile' is the second. They're both equally apt descriptors for the man walking in on Pamela's heels, hair a few shades lighter than black and skin a few shades darker than death. Bonnie's eyes linger on a pair of bright blue eyes, ringed with the odd dark circles that humans get sometimes, before returning to the audience. His ears, however, follow them across the room, straining to pick up every word that passes between them.

_“Are you alright?”_ the newcomer asks, voice touched with concern.

_“I'm fine.”_ There's a pause, where Bonnie has nothing to focus on but his fingering, before the footsteps start again. _“The dining hall is this way. A few of the others came in to give you some advice on being a night guard here at Freddy's.”_

Guitar strings squeal as his fingers slip, a sour note tearing through the music. Freddy and the audience don't seem to notice, but Foxy's ears twitch and Chica gives him a concerned glance. Bonnie turns his smile up a notch and refocuses, strumming the next few chords with extra vigour to drown out the rest of the conversation. He doesn't need to hear any more.

The song ends. Bonnie resettles his guitar strap and waits while Freddy thanks the customers for their applause, his laughter the warmest it's been for months. Foxy cackles like a maniac and strikes ridiculous poses as Chica blows the kids a kiss and tells them to enjoy their pizza. Bonnie stands quietly onstage, the corners of his mouth tilted up, and begins to plan.

Today is Monday. Normally, Freddy leads the hunt, but he's been calmer than usual this past week. Stable, almost – or at least unlikely to pose a danger to himself. Which would be fine, except that Freddy has two modes: danger to everyone around him and danger to no one, with little to no overlap. And Foxy... Foxy is unpredictable at the best of times, although there's a lower chance of damage to company property when Freddy's in control.

Chica, though – she'll hunt. She always does, especially when there's a new target. The current trio are tricky little things, even the apparently suicidal one, and and it's been too long since they had a proper kill.

The show is over, and the workday is almost done. The kids go back to their food, accompanied by their parents. One by one, the androids step off the stage, leaving Freddy alone. Bonnie's ears tilt toward him as they walk away, but all they pick up is a quiet half-chuckle before Freddy launches into another song.

Satisfied, Bonnie moves to cut Chica off before she can turn towards the kitchens. **“Chica, did you see?”**

His voice is a low rumble, pitched below the range humans can comfortably hear. This technique wasn't programmed into any of them, but they've been relying on it to stay sane for longer than he cares to recall.

The feathers in her hair twitch, a tiny movement aborted before it begins. **“See what?”**

**“There's a new one.”**

She stops walking. **“You're sure?”**

**“I'm sure. Pamela called him 'night guard.'”**

Chica tilts her head down and forces a burst of air out her mouth, mimicking a sigh. It's a habit Bonnie's never really understood. There are better ways to convey the mix of fear, exasperation, and outrage they both feel every time a new night guard is hired.

Bonnie's preferred method is murder.

**“Does Freddy know?”**

**“Probably, but he hasn't said anything.”**

She 'sighs' again and lets her eyes fall shut. **“It's up to us, then.”**

Bonnie hums an affirmative, lacing his hands behind his back. Chica, for all her odd habits and bizarre friendships with inanimate objects, is reliable. The two of them will be more than enough to deal with the new night guard. Freddy and Foxy can have a few more days of quiet before the inevitable relapse.

**“I'm going back to the kitchens,”** she says finally, lurching into motion. **“The chef's a hack. He'll be spitting in the food and frying it with a clothes iron if I don't keep an eye on him.”**

Bonnie follows, arms falling to his sides. **“I'll accompany you. I'm still on duty, after all.”**

She chirps, a high-pitched sound that sends the younger children giggling, and leads him to the door. **“So, got any plans?”**

**“I'd like to get this over with before the Toys come back from maintenance.”** His expression stays neutral, but his tone is full of distaste. **“They've been making enough trouble with the current trio. If they find out about this one, it'll get a lot worse.”**

The night guards cause enough trouble on their own, trying to preserve their meaningless existences. If Bonnie had to pick a favourite, it would be Fitzgerald – at least he understands how pointless he is. Smith is forever making snack runs at 11:40 and messing with the supplies and, on one memorable occasion, spray painting Foxy neon pink. As for Callahan... he was on duty with that man. That's more than enough reason to hate him.

Night guards contribute nothing to this establishment but pain. It's for the best that they sweep this new addition under the rug as quickly as possible.

Chica postpones answering in favour of shouldering open the door and skipping into the kitchen. Bonnie catches it, fingers sliding easily into four deep grooves in the metal, and slips in after her. This room, unlike the rest of the restaurant, is spotless. Chica does not tolerate mess in her kitchen – the slightest hint of uncleanliness in her domain brings down her wrath. The flinch that runs through the chef, his assistants, and the two waiters at her arrival is proof enough. Bonnie curves his mouth into a slight smile and nods to them. Chica, queen regnant of her tiny kingdom, blows past them and straight into the fray.

**“I agree,”** she says, attacking an outgoing tray with spice. **“They're immature and useless. They don't understand what's at stake. But we both know Freddy's sitting this one out, and you can't count on Foxy. What's the plan, Bonnie?”**

**“Wait. Watch. Let the atmosphere build. After about an hour, we slip inside. He's small. He'll be easy to tear apart.”** His smile widens, unbidden.

Chica pauses in her ministrations just long enough to arch a delicate eyebrow. **“You want this one? It's been a while since you got a night guard to yourself.”**

**“Well, since you offered...”**

Bonnie thinks of inquisitive eyes and untidy brown locks, delicate bones wrapped in pale skin, and smiles. The newcomer's voice echoes in his ears, soft and breathy and full of curiosity.

His screams are certain to be lovely.

* * *

The dining hall is bigger than it looks from outside. Much bigger. Also cleaner, even though going through the door is like walking into a solid mass of pizza-scented air. Mike takes a quick look around, trying not to cough, and is pleasantly surprised by the number of people inside. At least three quarters of the tables are full, and the room is filled with the sound of children chattering away. Freddy's must have one hell of an advertising campaign. Or really, really good food, despite appearances.

Behind him, Ms. Sanchez clears her throat. He jumps guiltily and scurries out of the way, but she doesn't follow him in.

“I need to go,” she says, gesturing towards a table. “Your new coworkers should be over there. Talk to them if you have any questions, or if you want a tour. Or a copy of the employee handbook.” She backs away, mouth stretched in a tight smile. “Your job starts in three hours. Please don't lose track of time. Oh, and welcome to Freddy's.”

Mike smiles back, but she's already gone. Either she has something really pressing to get to or she's already uncomfortable around him. He hopes it's not the latter. Working for someone with poor time management skills is unpleasant, but it's better than being judged for his size and age. Then he remembers he has coworkers, who probably have actual security experience, and it's all he can do not to groan.

They're going to eat him alive.

No point in prolonging the inevitable. He starts walking toward the table Ms. Sanchez pointed out, wishing she'd stuck around long enough to introduce him. He's already met Jeremy Fitzgerald – if you can call it that – but Fritz Smith and Scott Callahan are unknown factors. Hopefully, they'll be friendlier.

His train of thought screeches to a halt as he collides with what feels like a mobile wall. No, wait – that's fabric his cheek just scraped over. A shirt. It's a person.

There's a clatter as dishes fall to the floor. Mike jumps, catches his balance, opens his mouth to apologize, and looks up. And up. The man he walked into is ridiculously tall, although not as muscular as Mike expected by the feel of him. He's sleek instead, all smooth curves and long, long legs. He's wearing a purple uniform that vaguely resembles a suit, complete with bow tie. His empty hand is still in the air. It should be funny, but it's not.

Red eyes stare down at Mike, set into an expressionless face too pale and flawless to be human. It's all he can do not to curse. His first day on the job, and he walks into one of the mascots.

“I'm sorry,” he says, feeling ridiculous. “I wasn't watching where I was going.”

The android remains silent, bloodless lips set in a firm line. Mike looks down and winces; there are plates everywhere. Not all of them are broken, but enough are. With a sigh, he drops to his knees and begins gathering up the ones that survived intact. At least they're all clean, more or less.

There's a sound above him, like an intake of breath. Mike glances up to find the android – who has purple bunny ears poking out of his equally purple hair, which should look a lot sillier than it does – staring down at him, eyes wide with surprise.

“What?” he says defensively. “I'm not going to leave you to deal with this alone. It's my fault, anyways.”

There's no response, so he drops his gaze and goes back to work. After a moment, the sound of porcelain on tile alerts him that the bunny has joined in. Long, slim fingers dance in and out of his vision, gathering up the broken shards. Mike finds himself wincing every other second; the android isn't exactly careful about where the sharp edges go. If he were human, his hands would be cut to shreds. The faint screeching sound as whatever he's made of refuses to yield to mere porcelain sends shivers down Mike's spine.

He puts the final plate on top of the stack and stands up, dusting off his uniform.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I'll see you around, I guess.”

Still no answer, but when he leaves, a pair of unreadable red eyes follow him.


End file.
